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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28872942">badlands</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/devonthemenace/pseuds/devonthemenace'>devonthemenace</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Friends With Benefits, I'm Bad At Tagging, Lesbian Dee Reynolds, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Experimentation, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Trans Charlie Kelly, Trans Dennis Reynolds, Trans Male Character, also artemis is NB, dennis has Big issues, maureen is complicated, sex scenes feat. a trans character, some instances of transphobia, title has literally nothing to do with halsey, vaguely a Theatre School AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:54:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,352</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28872942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/devonthemenace/pseuds/devonthemenace</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"He was already putting himself in enough danger by living with a coked out stranger; adding "death by hate crime" to his Tragic Transgender Bingo card wasn't particularly high up on the to-do list."</p><p>Mac answers a personal ad on Craigslist to be Dennis' new roommate. They hate each other right away. </p><p>Dee finds herself falling for a woebegone princess- if only she could remember the girl's name.</p><p>(MACDENNIS STRANGERS TO ENEMIES TO LOVERS?? deetress rivals to lovers. there are so many layers to this AU i'm so sorry. alternating POV.) **RATING HAS CHANGED**</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dee Reynolds/The Waitress (It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia), Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. dennis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>HI so this is chapter one of ,,, many that i have planned. we'll see. i've never actually written a trans HC fic before so it figures my first one ends up with three trans characters in it. i realise that the tags are a ride. the story isn't much different. it's set in present day though the characters are college-age; i knew i had to include some level of Other People Being Bad but i really truly did not want to write out a set-in-the-90s level of transphobia/homophobia. if you've just come to comment about hating trans HCs then i love you too. remember kids; i am validated by the notification- not the content of the comment. (not to say nice comments aren't appreciated!)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He woke with an aching in his shoulders.</p><p><em> Fuck, </em> he thought. He'd fallen asleep in his binder again. Rolling over onto his back, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and attempted to stretch out his arms. A horrible crunching sounded from his bones, like eggshells in a cement mixer. He groaned, and slapped the surface of his bedside table searching for an alarm clock. Whatever time it was, the sun was already blasting in through his blinds and he found that the rest of the apartment sounded empty. Giving up his feeble smacking, he rolled his head painfully to one side to look over.</p><p>Half past eleven, according to the clock. Yawning, he threw his hands over his face. Late again- there would be serious shit this time. He swung his feet over the side of his bed and rose with an unattractive grunt. Reaching underneath the bed's pitiful steel frame, he rummaged for his cell phone.</p><p>When he found it, he typed out a quick, lazy message to his sister.</p><p> </p><p><b>DENNIS</b> , <em> 11:36 AM </em> </p><p>Sorry. Getting up.</p><p><b>UGLY</b> , <em> 11:42 AM </em></p><p>xcuse this time fuckface? 🐀🔪 late night sucking dick 4 crack LOL</p><p>He tried not to laugh at the insult. He knew it had taken Dee six whole minutes to think of it. Closing out his messenger app, he scrolled lazily through his Instagram feed. Nothing out of the ordinary- all big teeth and filtered sunsets. He noted how many gorgeous straight women he seemed to know with fuck-ugly boyfriends. It made him wonder- pointlessly, always pointlessly- how easy it might be to be cis. Or even straight. Anything other than the double-whammy bi trans nightmare he seemed stuck with.</p><p><em>You're internalising again,</em> his therapist said from the back of his mind. <em>Regroup.</em> He took a deep breath in, and sighed when his phone buzzed in his hands. </p>
<p><b>UGLY, </b> <em> 12:00PM </em></p><p>HELLOOOOOO??</p><p>CXSUIBB</p><p>💣🔥🗡</p><p>WHERE U</p><p><b>DENNIS, </b> <em> 12:15 PM </em></p><p>LMAO</p><p>Calm down drama queen, gimme 10 mins.</p><p><b>UGLY,</b> <em>12:16 PM</em></p><p>WHAT HAVE U BEEN DOING FOR THE PAST 40 U MOTHERFUCK????</p><p>Chuckling at her choice of language, he tossed his phone off to the side. He dragged himself out of bed, and trudged slowly across the hardwood over to the corner of the room.</p><p> </p><p><em> Movement clothes, </em> he lamented, which meant no binder even if he hadn't slept in it. </p><p>Cracked, bruised ribs or a body coated in sweat- his choice should be obvious, but he did pause briefly to wonder. Steadying himself, he closed his eyes and tore off his shirt before wriggling out from the undergarment awkwardly. He felt around the floor blindly for a moment after the discarded longsleeve, tossing it back on before daring to open his eyes again. Observing his torso, he found that the fabric was heavy enough to hide his thankfully thin frame. As relief was just about to set in, rhythmic thumping sounded from across the hall.</p><p>"Goddamnit," he muttered. His roommate was apparently home- and in there with some girl.</p><p>The roommate himself was admittedly hot. With fluffy hair, slouched eyes and a permanently plastered "tough guy" look- he seemed like the kind of person who went to Catholic school and fought with all the teachers. But Dennis couldn't put himself through getting involved with another straight man. For one thing, the sex was godawful.</p><p>Though, if the rising squeals were any indication, whoever was here seemed to be enjoying herself well enough. He shook his head, clearing out the seeds of thought there before carefully grabbing a bent spliff and dusty slippers from the ground. Not wanting to disturb the dude and his conquest, he lumbered gracelessly out the window and onto the fire escape. Checking the clock on his phone, he found it to be about 20 minutes after noon. As far as he could recall, today's rehearsal had been scheduled for 11 o'clock.</p><p> </p><p>As he made his way shakily down the escape, families shrieked and laughed from inside the red brick building. Cars zipped past him and honked furiously at one another; the smell of burnt plastic and construction tar carried across the streets. Not even a year ago, he'd been listening to his WASP neighbours on Chestnut Hill talk about this part of the city like a fictional planet. <em> The Badlands, </em>that's what they'd called it. Bad as it may have been, he would've preferred a hole in the ground to the styrofoam jungles of Suburbia. Reaching the bottom of the stairway, he fumbled in his jean pocket for a lighter before puffing away at his spliff.</p><p> </p><p>Upon his arrival, Artemis- who was slumped half-stoned on a large wooden chair- lifted their hand apathetically toward him.</p><p>"Good," they slurred, already half in the bag, "our Prince is here. Magnificent. Magnificent…" Scanning the room, they snapped in the general direction of the other cast members. "Gather 'round, little monkeys. We're making theatre."</p><p>As the others made their way across the stage floor, Dennis sat with his legs out in front of him- a style his mother had always called <em>criss-cross applesauce. </em>He cringed at the memory as his sister thudded down beside him.</p><p>"Nice of you to show, dickbreath," she hissed in a half-hearted whisper.</p><p>"Deandra," Artemis drawled. "Don't be a callous bitch to the leads."</p><p>"Yeah, Dee," said Dennis triumphantly. "Stop being callous, bitch."</p><p>"That goes for the rest of you as well, Ensemble," they continued. "Remember, there are no small parts; there is only small talent. And your talent was only big enough for the ensemble, right? Alright. Now then," they called. "Where is my Woebegone Princess?"</p><p>"We don't <em> have </em> a woebegone Princess anymore, remember?" A voice piped up from the back of the room, followed by another.</p><p>"Yeah," the second voice spoke. "You called Daisy a delusional cow and she quit?"</p><p>"Ah, yes," they recalled with annoyance. "Daisy. Little Miss <em> I can't lift a real boulder</em>. Good riddance, then; I don't need a wet blanket suffocating my vision. Who's her understudy?"</p><p>"There <em> are </em>no understudies, Miss!" A third, slightly more strained voice, "You said that the spirits never misguide you!" The panicked kid ran her hands roughly up and down her legs. "Opening night is like a month from now, Christ, how am I supposed to put this on my CV…?" Artemis stood from their cheap folding chair, and struck it twice against the ground.</p><p>"Faith, monkeys! Faith! This," they paused, wiggling their fingers in front of their face. "Is art. Art waits for no one! Somebody can read in." Dee burst into a chant of <em> ooh ooh ooh</em>s <em> , </em> and flailed her boney arm above her head. "Somebody besides Deandra."</p><p>"Goddamnit," she groaned, lowering her hand gracelessly. Artemis raked their eyes over the small crowd of awkward, stoned 20-somethings before them. Tapping a finger lightly against their chin, they spoke once again.</p><p>"You there," a manicured hand jutted out, echoing the harsh jingle of metallic bracelets. "Kitty Cat Sweater. What's your name?"</p><p>"Me? Uh," the girl in the sweater stammered painfully; the urge to bludgeon her to death rose in Dennis with every crawling second. "M-Maureen. That's uh, hi…" She muttered another quick <em> Maureen </em> under her breath before bowing her head awkwardly.</p><p>"Intriguing," said Artemis, still taking in the girl's strange appearance. "Very intriguing. Your aura. It oozes the withered spirit of an old spinster. And yet, your velcro shoes… They call out to me. You'll be our stand-in Princess."</p><p>"Oh, come on," shrieked Dee in her shrill, cracking voice. "She's a lady-in-waiting! Pick someone from the chorus!"</p><p>"Lady-in-waiting <em> is </em>an ensemble role." They made sure to correct the terminology.</p><p>"Someone with no lines!" She was fuming now.</p><p>"I'm, um, fine being bumped down…" Maureen said quietly. "To a non-speaking role, I mean. M-maybe to, uh, somebody that doesn't even sing?"</p><p>"Fine," Artemis relented. "Deandra, you take her old role. Maureen, you're still reading for our lead."</p><p>"Oh, <em> whiskers </em> ," she spoke this like a curse word, and Dennis crawled in his skin. This could <em> not </em> be his Woebegone Princess.</p><p>"Right!" Artemis clapped loudly. "From the top, everyone."</p><p> </p><p>"I mean, I'm <em> pissed </em>," Dee shouted into her coffee before guzzling it back in rage.</p><p>"Got that," Dennis replied sluggishly, fiddling with the string of his teabag.</p><p>"Who does that bitch Maureen even think she is, anyway? Like," she grew louder with each word, startling the other patrons of the cafe's front patio. "She's not as pretty as me, first of all."</p><p>"Just as annoying, though."</p><p>"Fuck off, Dennis. I'm being serious, here."</p><p>"So am I," he said. "Besides, she didn't seem too happy either."</p><p>"I have to kill her," she continued, ignoring his attempt at rationality. "Maybe I can put razorblades in her water bottle."</p><p>"Maybe it's see-through," too tired to argue, he played along. "You'd have to pull off something big."</p><p>"Yeah?" Seemingly, he had piqued her interest. "What are we talking, like a car crash? Skiing accident?" She paused. "Push her off the stage?" Dennis chuckled.</p><p>"Nah," he replied. "She might not die. You'd have to get creative- induce a seizure, maybe." He impressed himself sometimes, with how pointless his own words could be. "She definitely has that cat shit disease." Dee tilted her head, perplexed.</p><p>"Cat shit gives you seizures?"</p><p>"Sometimes, kind of," he remarked casually. He lifted his tea and hovered a curious hand above it. Still too hot. From beneath the table, a girlband he didn't recognise harmonised in a muffled foreign language.</p><p>"Damn," his sister rummaged carelessly through her purse; the obnoxious music got louder before grinding to a halt. "I have to go. I have a thing." She reached across the table and grabbed hold of his tea, swigging back a sip before pulling it away from her lips and hissing. "That's like boiling hot perfume." He smiled and scoffed as she stomped away in disgust.</p><p>"Dumb bitch."</p><p>Dennis prayed to God his roommate was gone when he went home- or at least not having sex anymore. In his defense, he <em> was </em> supposed to have left the apartment by a quarter to 11. Thinking back, he supposed there had been a suspicious level of curiousity floating around the place about his rehearsal schedule. He grimaced, unable to stop himself from questioning whether the guy ever had sex in his bed while he was gone. Had he been planning to? Did he know he was still home then, or that he had heard them? He blew aggressively on the surface of his tea, swallowing a large mouthful and wincing when it burned him anyway. Standing slowly from his chair, he slunk down the street like an aging cat back toward his home. Slippers had been a horrible choice, he now realised, but stopping for shoes in the moment would've been a worse one. Risking an encounter was a non-option. He had trouble meeting girlfriends when he was attracted to the boyfriend- a bad habit left over from his and Dee's even more problematic teenage years. Despite not planning to act on it, he couldn't deny being at least physically attracted to…</p><p><em> Shit, </em> he thought, <em> what's his name? </em></p><p>Whatever. He couldn't deny being attracted to the Catholic School Guy. Dennis had an unreasonable thing for losers, greaseballs and scumbags. Given his penchant for sleeveless shirts, his status as a low-profile drug dealer, and his willingness to respond to personal ads on Craigslist, he could assume that Catholic School guy fell firmly into all three of those categories. He pondered what to do with the situation as he walked. On the one hand, he had concerningly few problems with being a homewrecker, and even less trouble giving in to impulse. On the other, he was already putting himself in enough danger by living with a coked out stranger; adding "death by hate crime" to his <em> Tragic Transgender Bingo </em> card wasn't particularly high up on the to-do list. Still- he imagined getting into his pants. It wouldn't be difficult, and he'd debased himself into sleeping with enough straight men to know that. A bit of whiskey, a little coconut oil and a BeeGees record was all it took to get most guys into bed with him. He wondered briefly if his roommate might like <em> Main Course.</em> Approaching the steps of the building, he willed his mind to settle down.</p><p>
  <em> Stop trying to imagine his dick. Stop trying to imagine his dick. Stop trying to imagine his dick. </em>
</p><p>No use. He planted his keys in the door and sighed. He really needed a boyfriend.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. dee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Dee. Deandra." A beat. "Whatever."</p>
<p>"Deandra," she considered. "Sweet Dee. I like it."</p>
<p>Dee found it to be a challenging nickname. Sweet wasn't a descriptor she was used to hearing. Abrasive was more like it. Grating, maybe. Obnoxious, boney, freakish… Definitely not sweet. She wondered what it said about her that the simple compliment made her nauseous. All of these women seemed so nice- inviting, hospitable. Open. She wanted to turn and run away.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yay chapter 2 ,,, once again i do not will not and cannot proofread, please speak to my managers The Spirits. alternatively titled Sweet Dee Tries To Meet Girls.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She stood cautiously, gripping the scrap of paper in her hand and comparing the numbers written there to the ones on the rundown building. Ivy crept lazily up its sides- drawing attention to a gaping hole in an upstairs window. It must have been an old factory, though it couldn't have seen much business in recent years. She checked the paper again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Apparently in the right place, Dee reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She lifted one to her lips and lit it absentmindedly- choking and spluttering, before dropping it to see that it was burning from the wrong end. Gravel snapped and crunched underfoot as she violently stomped out the smoldering cotton.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Son of a bitch," she spat, roughing her hair between her fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Need some help?" Dee jumped, spinning to face the voice behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Jesus," she said, flustered. "I know how to smoke." The mystery woman smirked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Doesn't look like it." Sensing a rising discomfort between them, she relaxed her eyebrows just slightly. "Here, hold on."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dee watched as the tired-eyed blonde placed a second cigarette between her lips. Flicking a red lighter under her manicured thumb, she inhaled deeply and pulled in the flame. Her eyes snapped shut- the instant calm of a nicotine headrush passing over her small body. Grabbing the now lit cigarette and handing it forward, her eyes drifted back open. Dee could see now that they were grey, but not quite. Somewhere in-between grey and green; the colour of mist parting over an angry sea. Smoke billowed from the woman's nostrils, and Dee finally noticed her extended arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thank you," she reached out slowly, mesmerized by her gaze. "Um, wanna share?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No thanks," Mystery Girl chuckled, and turned on her heel toward the building. "I don't smoke."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She watched the woman wander lazily toward the factory, her high top sneakers scraping with each clumsy step. She seemed about average height, though Dee noted being nearly half a foot taller herself. Loose sandy curls bounced happily into her shoulders as she drew further and further away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit a brick</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, now even more anxious to go inside. </span>
  <em>
    <span>These girls better not all look like her. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She pulled in another smoky breath and tried to calm her racing heart; then she noticed a smear of deep burgundy lipstick on the cotton filter between her fingers. Lifting it in a daze back to her mouth, she shivered when it made contact. She recalled the bizarre woman's face, how her cold eyes seemed to overtake it. She shook her head harshly, extinguishing the half-finished cigarette and stomping at the ground once more where it lay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gathering her reserve, she took a few shaky steps forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Easy does it, Dee.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A few more steps. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot… </span>
  </em>
  <span>At the end of the loose, rocky path, she found herself at the doors of the old building. She wasn't sure of the protocol- there was a password, she knew, but she suddenly had no idea what it was. She hoped knocking would do. Raising her knuckles to the wall of steel, she quickly tapped out </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shave and a Haircut.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shave and a Haircut </span>
  <em>
    <span>means you're supposed to be there, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she panicked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Right?</span>
  </em>
  <span> After a gruelling moment, she received her answer from the other side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Two bits.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doors swung open wide, revealing the building's interior. If the outside was rundown, then the inside was decrepit. Loose wires and chunks of drywall lay scattered around the floor; dust floated in the air like the scene of a snowglobe. From where she stood, she could see a pile of moldy cardboard boxes decaying in a faraway corner. Standing in the metal archway was a woman of about her own height- with about twice as many muscles. What little hair she had sat in short waves atop her head; the rest was buzzed down to stubble. She regarded Dee with curiosity, taking in her appearance and smiling. Dee herself became all-too aware that she was still clad in her dreaded '</span>
  <em>
    <span>movement clothes</span>
  </em>
  <span>' from rehearsal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey there," began the muscular woman. "Can I help you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Um, hi," her mind went blank for a few seconds. "I- Uh, they told me to mention a flower. Lilacs, lilies… Maybe lavender?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fresh meat," she said mischievously. "Welcome to the sisterhood." She stepped back and made a dramatic, sweeping motion toward the disheveled factory floor. A gust of cool air puffed out and swirled up a small pile of dirt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dee couldn't peel her eyes from the array of women strewn throughout the place. Leaning casually against the walls, dangling their feet from old conveyor belts, or sat high up atop old machinery- they looked at ease. She felt her own shoulders relax a bit. As she stumbled forward, still spooked like a baby deer, the woman from the door approached from behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Xanadu," she remarked. "It's amazing, isn't it?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And you're </span>
  <em>
    <span>all…</span>
  </em>
  <span> ?" The woman laughed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Tracey!" She bellowed across the room, ignoring the question. "Another fresh case for ya'!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A third woman- built quite the same as the second, though only about as tall as the first- came bounding over in a flurry of arms and legs. This must have been Tracey.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hiya!" She shot out her hand in greeting, with the enthusiasm of a freshman orientation leader. "Welcome, sister! I'm Tracey, and this," she motioned to the other woman. "Is Beatrice. BB, if you like to get wild."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>BB rolled her eyes fondly as Tracey continued.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"If you want to come with me, we can get you started on some intake stuff. Nothing heavy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dee followed cautiously in toe- though she had a bit of difficulty keeping up. The reason for Tracey's upbeat demeanor was becoming clearer as she walked; she must have been a cashier. Judging by her feverish pace, she had been one for a long time. They reached a dusty old belt, which seemed to act as a makeshift desk. Papers, pens and hair elastics covered its surface- coffee rings on everything in sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Right," started Tracey as she grabbed one of the elastics, scooping back her thick, jheri curled hair into it. "Total blank, I never asked you your name."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Dee. Deandra." A beat. "Whatever."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Deandra," she considered. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sweet Dee</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I like it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dee found it to be a challenging nickname. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sweet</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn't a descriptor she was used to hearing. Abrasive was more like it. Grating, maybe. Obnoxious, boney, freakish… Definitely not sweet. She wondered what it said about her that the simple compliment made her nauseous. All of these women seemed so nice- inviting, hospitable. Open. She wanted to turn and run away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't usually do this kind of stuff," she blurted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Theatre?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The other thing." Tracey still looked puzzled. "The, uh… whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>lesbian </span>
  </em>
  <span>deal. Well, I'm a lesbian every day- I just meant out loud." Hearing this, her face softened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Right," she said. "Well, everybody has to start somewhere. You made a good choice starting with us." She couldn't have been older than 24, but at this closer range Dee couldn't help but notice how exhausted Tracey's eyes were. Deep crinkles sat out of place across her young skin, and freckles dusted her whole face, turning her already dark brown complexion a rich shade of umber. Among her neatly coiled black hair, she could spot wisps of shining silver.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't know if I can stay in here," she replied, starting to feel a bit dizzy from the whole thing. "I'm not ready for… all of this." She motioned haphazardly toward the rest of the room, knocking over an empty coffee cup as she did. She jumped when it hit the ground with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop-pop-pop</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Tracey giggled, though she did make some attempt at covering her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I get it," she knelt down, grabbing the fallen paper cup before continuing. "No pressure. Whenever you're ready, you know where to find us."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Dee said, eyes shifting toward the ground. "We'll see. I mean, I'll try."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Here," Tracey pivoted swiftly toward the conveyor. She ripped the corner from a loose scrap of paper and scribbled her phone number down on it messily. "Call, text, whatever. Even just to grab drinks."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dee could feel little water bugs wading through her stomach acid. She never knew how to handle other women, how to stop translating all her feelings for them into rage and discomfort. Every word made her clothes feel tighter and tighter, like everyone in the room could see every ounce of her flesh. She felt like puking; she grabbed the paper anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Right. Thanks," she tried her best to be earnest through her unease. "It was really nice meeting you, honestly." Tracey smiled, and she wanted to close her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It was nice to meet you too. I hope we see you around." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah. Like I said, we'll see." With that, Dee cast an awkward wave toward the room and made a beeline for the exit. She couldn't stop, couldn't look up. She didn't want to risk seeing anything that might make her stay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why am I always such an ass?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her mind sped up with her feet. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She was so nice. Why the fuck was she so nice? Goddamn it, I feel like a dick. I </span>
  </em>
  <span>am </span>
  <em>
    <span>a dick. </span>
  </em>
  <span>As she opened the exit door, she finally chanced a look upward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her train of thought derailed, she froze in place while the old metal lurched back into the wall behind her. There she was again; that woman from earlier. She was sitting down on what looked like an old flannel shirt, spread out over the gravel to keep the dirt off her white denim jeans. She was smoking a cigarette. Hearing someone behind her, she turned to meet her eyes- and there was that grey-green colour again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey," she called out. "It's you again." Dee scrambled for something to say back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I thought you didn't smoke," she said, causing another warm chuckle to erupt from Mystery Girl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, and I have a twin sister," her voice was dark and clumsy- something not quite right in the way her consonants melted together. "Who only tells the truth."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Huh?" The words went in one ear and out the other. This was too much. Way </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>too much. All she heard were alarm bells; all she saw were stars.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You look pale," she made out through the static. "Come sit with me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She can see me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dee realised. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She's looking at me and I have no idea what she's seeing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She opened her mouth to speak, but the rest of her body moved instead to double over and spray vomit onto the loose dirt and stone of the walkway. She prayed for a heart attack.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Woah," the other woman commented, morbidly impressed. "Punk rock."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I have to go," she yelled, and bolted in the wrong direction entirely.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. mac</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>this one took a bit longer because i wanted to get it right. the next chapter i have planned is from the waitress' perspective- but let me know if you like or dislike the switching POV! (it will only switch between the 2 main ships if i keep it up- sorry, we aren't getting any artemis POV any time soon.) CW for smut and gratuitous language. as always, i don't proofread and it's past midnight.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is the chapter that's going to make me have to change the rating of this fic to "explicit" and then promptly go into hiding. this chap is 2200-ish words and about 50-60% of it is smut, because it's written from the POV of one ronald "dildo bike" macdonald. this part of the story does contain explicit content involving an ftm trans character (charlie)- i tried my best to keep everything trigger-free but if your dysphoria is easily set off by stuff like that then you may have to wait for next week's update. this chapter is not necessarily meant to even be taken as erotic. it's meant moreso to represent the fact that trans people do have sex lives- often very normal ones- and that said sex lives are possible to portray without crossing lines into misgendering or fetishism. notes about the plot points you may miss by skipping will be at the end of the chapter to avoid spoilers. also, this may go without saying, but quick disclaimer; the authour of this fic is trans.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Shit, shit," he tumbled awkwardly across the room, hobbling into his jeans. "What time is it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's… It's… Fuck!" a shrill, panicked voice came from his bed. "This is a ticky watch, Mac! I can't read the thing!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" He stopped fighting with his pants for a moment. "Why are you wearing it, then?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, why are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> wearing one, </span>
  <em>
    <span>bro</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because," he dropped the jeans completely, throwing his hands over his face. "I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>read it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Charlie."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>la-di-da</span>
  </em>
  <span>, look at me! Look at me! I'm Mac," Charlie shrieked. "I read books! I can tell the time!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could respond, they both heard the sound of a door creaking open slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck," Mac announced to the room. "I'm fucked. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>do this, bro."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, what? What do I </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> do?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know what, Charlie!" He lowered his voice to a harsh attempt of a whisper before continuing. "You last like 3 hours."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well maybe," Charlie attempted to whisper back, "if you didn't last 30 seconds."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's your fault! It's your fault! I will come over there and put my goddamn fingers </span>
  <em>
    <span>through</span>
  </em>
  <span> your nostrils!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello?" His roommate was calling out from the main hall, and it sounded like he was on his way toward the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Leave out the window," Mac blurted unceremoniously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck off," Charlie replied. "You leave out the window."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm serious. He can't see a guy walk out of my bedroom."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie's face scrunched up with annoyance, but he gathered his jacket and shoes and made for the window anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're a pussy, dude."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I know. Text me when you get home safe, and we'll finish up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie turned and flipped him off, before cracking open the glass and stepping out onto the fire escape. As he disappeared from view, a knocking came.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"One sec!" He said, checking himself in the mirror to make sure that his fly was up, and his hair was small enough. He flattened it down a bit more, to stay on the safe side. Rushing over to the door, he swung it open and leaned with what he hoped was a casual air against the wall. "Heeeeey, Donnie!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dennis." Whatever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right, right. How was the, uh… the play?" The guy pulled a pissy expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's a musical," he said, before turning on his heel and walking away- not without throwing a quick </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm here now, duh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mac sighed with relief as he closed the door, and moved toward his bed. He pulled a large, tightly rolled joint from off his bedside table, and flopped down onto the mattress with a heavy </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He rustled around his pockets for a lighter, before spotting one tucked underneath his pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bad spot</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don't put it back there, don't put it back there, don't…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the joint was going, he tossed the lighter carelessly across the floor. As long as it wasn't on the bed, he was content. He wondered where Charlie was by now, or if he should text and make sure he was okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's been 3 minutes, Mac, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he reminded himself. He forced his mind to focus on something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His roommate seemed like a dick, he decided. A pretentious one. Down to the lilt of his voice and the coif of his hair, the guy screamed </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust fund baby</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What the hell was he doing living up here?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Probably 'researching a role'</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he considered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stupid bougie shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He hated it when rich assholes with yuppie parents came into his neighbourhood looking for a purpose. Knowing any of them could crawl right back- could take that internship at the bank and have a free roof back over their heads- made him sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all wanted to slum it in the scary places, until they realised people didn't just get robbed on TV. He wondered how long this one would last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the other room, he heard the pounding bass of an electronic 80s floor-filler. He couldn't be sure through the walls- maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alphaville</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Human League</span>
  </em>
  <span>? He closed his eyes and focused as hard as he could. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Baltimora</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he placed. It was fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tarzan Boy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was an interesting development. Was this dude gay? Or just artistic? Had he heard this song at a bar, or from one of his actor friends? Maybe it was just music- and it meant nothing. He didn't know. He was starting to get high; and his head was scrambled from spending so long between Charlie's legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was happy for him- of course he was happy. He was the one who had been there at the doctor's and helped him with all the consent forms. But testosterone had dialled his best friend's libido up to 11. The first time it happened, it was just a blowjob. Now they were having sex every day. Mac liked- </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span>- the deed itself. But his body was starting to cry for help. His hips ached like he was 87 years old; (not to mention, Charlie was one hell of a scratcher.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt his cock twitch inside his pants at the memory. He was almost surprised it had any life in it still, but he knew himself too well for that. Taking a long, deep drag off the joint, he let his eyes drift closed for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He imagined Charlie down on his back- his hole flexing and stretching around his own fingers. He pictured his hips, bucking in desperation as he plunged his digits wildly in and out of himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if summoned by his imagination, Mac's phone lit up with a text.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>CHARIZARD</b>
</p><p>
  <span>🏠</span>
</p><p>
  <b>MACHAMP</b>
</p><p>
  <span>good :)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>where were we?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>CHARIZARD</b>
</p><p>
  <span>SND 📸 LOL</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughed out loud to himself. It was always interesting, trying to sexy-text with an illiterate guy. Still, he rested the joint between his lips firmly and used his free hand to unzip his pants and pop loose his erection. Gripping it casually, he snapped up a photo and sent it through.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>CHARIZARD</b>
</p><p>
  <span>NISE</span>
</p><p>
  <span>🕑</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn't actually sure what that meant. He could decipher </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that was easy. But he wasn't positive whether the clock meant he should wait a minute, or if it was another jab at his speed in bed. He took a second to ponder this- but got sidetracked wondering whether it mattered, since he seemed to be waiting now anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A telltale chirp from his phone- a notification from Snapchat. It was purple.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh boy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clicking on the video, it was exactly what he hoped. Charlie was laid out on his bedroom floor, his pants discarded somewhere out of frame. One leg was rested on the rug, while the other reached up to sit on the edge of his bedframe. The bottom of his shirt stuffed between his teeth exposed his stubbly, pudgy stomach as he thrust his wet fingers between his legs roughly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mac let the short, 10-second clip loop over a few times. He wanted to catch every detail- the tremble of his lip, and the mischievous glint in his eyes. Finally swiping it away, he put out his joint and slid the screen over to send a message.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only sent over 3 characters- </span>
  <em>
    <span>🎥📞?</span>
  </em>
  <span>- but his phone started ringing as soon as it was opened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have to be quiet," Charlie said this directly into his microphone, and Mac turned his volume down slightly. "Cricks is home."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I hate that guy," Mac responded. "Why do you live with him instead of me? Honestly, is it the cologne? I can wear less. You know I'm trying to find a signature."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dude, did you call me just to talk about your cologne? Because, if we're talking about your cologne, I'm gonna hang up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, no," he said. "I wanna watch you. Put your hand back."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the other side of the screen, Charlie did as he was told; his eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he buried his middle and index fingers up to the knuckles in his hole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>," he breathed. "You gonna beat off?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Trust me," Mac laughed. "Already am."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Show me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Diligently, he switched to his back camera and framed himself in the centre- pulling his hand away for a moment to coat it with spit before returning it to his now leaky erection. Charlie chuckled beneath a moan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's dripping," he remarked, pumping faster. "You little bitch."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck you," Mac said in a low tone, though his hand never stopped moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You wish you could."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck you</span>
  </em>
  <span>," he repeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Say it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shit..." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie slipped himself a third finger, widening his legs just slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Say you wish you could fuck me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wish I could fuck you," Mac choked out, now tugging frantically at his aching boner. Charlie screwed his eyes shut and threw back his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"More, more."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I want you to pin me to my bed," Mac continued. "and sit on my face."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shit. Oh my god, Mac."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wanna feel you squirm around on my mouth."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Keep going," he mewled. "Don't stop talking."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, you like it when I talk to you?" Mac's brain said </span>
  <em>
    <span>slow down</span>
  </em>
  <span>; but his hand said </span>
  <em>
    <span>harder</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shit, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Charlie spluttered before he could respond. "Yeah, I love it. Love to hear you."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Uh-oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Mac thought to himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don't be a minute man, you pathetic little-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Nope, that wasn't going to help. He tried to switch tracks; his jumbled thoughts leaping from one place to the next in an attempt to hold off his orgasm. His last hope of an exit strategy seemed to be pulling out the big guns- maybe he could manage to get Charlie off before himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You still have that magic wand?" He grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll go grab it." </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bingo</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A second to breathe. As he wandered off the screen, Mac willed himself to let go of his cock. He wouldn't have very long before Charlie got back, so this moment had to count. Deny it as he might, there was at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>merit to all the jokes about his speed. He consulted the rolodex of boner-killers.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dead babies. Dead nuns? Zombie nuns? Zombie Jesus… Crucified Jesus… Fuck! No, no, not crucified Jesus… </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His best friend slumped back down onto the floor in front of him, now holding what looked like an oversized sceptre.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Back in action," he remarked, pressing the button on the side of the contraption. The vibrator let out a telltale whirring as it sprung to life.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Alright, Mac. You can do this. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He moved his hand back down toward his dick, and Charlie did the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus fucking Christ</span>
  </em>
  <span> that's good," he made out through the speakers past the buzzing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. Stop thinking about Jesus. No, no, no…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mmmmm, god</span>
  <em>
    <span>damn</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just too much for him. As quickly as he'd started back up, it was over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait-" he pleaded with himself, but it was no use. His jaw hung open; his vision turning to blackness as his eyes rolled back into his skull. Several unattractive grunts tumbled from his mouth, as an embarrassingly small amount of cum sputtered and leaked from the tip of his rapidly deflating erection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world returned to him in brightly coloured spots. Luckily, it seemed like his little scheme had at least done him some good- Charlie looked too lost in grinding violently against the toy to even notice his mortifying display.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not bothered to stand and search for a tissue or even a t-shirt, Mac raised his hand impulsively toward his mouth and licked the now cooled semen from his digits. His face scrunched when it hit his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gross, tell the chef I'd like a fresh one</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his brain supplied unhelpfully. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He's almost there dude, don't laugh. Pay attention.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Back on the screen, Charlie was losing it- ironically, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the one laughing. Shaking and bucking his hips, he giggled and cursed loudly as thick, milky fluid oozed from his aching hole and out between his fingers; still buried inside. So much for being quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh my fuck," he squealed, his voice cracking up to high heaven as it left him. "Fuck, shit, fuck shitfuckfuckshit</span>
  <em>
    <span>shit-"</span>
  </em>
  <span> This chorus of expletives continued until it devolved into a mess of incomprehensible screeching. His body twitched and shuddered; his shaking feet thumped rhythmically against the hardwood. Clicking the vibrator to a halt and dropping it to the floor with a small </span>
  <em>
    <span>crash</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his body went limp as he laid there panting for air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well," Mac remarked, matter-of-fact among the silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I fucked up," Charlie replied. "That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> quiet." The two young men erupted into fits of matching laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, it definitely wasn't."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh well," he sighed. "I guess everybody in Philadelphia has already heard me cum before." Mac chuckled warmly at this- 6 months ago, he would've been embarrassed if someone had heard him </span>
  <em>
    <span>speak</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I gotta head to sleep soon, buddy," he mumbled through a yawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's like 6."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. We banged all day, dude."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Whatever,' Charlie stretched out his tired arms as he spoke. "I thought you were supposed to be an athlete or something."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck you," he replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, you did."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm hanging up on you for that joke."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"G'night, bro," he said fondly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Night, Charlie." Mac ended the call with his thumb, tossing the phone aside and shutting his eyes. As he drifted to sleep, he noted that the lights were all on- and his pants were still hanging uncomfortably around his knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he slept like a rock.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>MISSED PLOT POINTS FOR SMUT-SKIPPERS:</p><p>-the person dennis heard mac having sex with in chapter 1 was charlie<br/>-charmac are (best) friends w/ benefits<br/>-mac doesn't know why dennis was looking for a roommate<br/>-charlie is living with cricket for (currently) unspecified reasons</p><p>that should be all! not a super plot-heavy chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. the waitress</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She had barely been able to stop thinking about the lanky, awkward woman from the club. They had hardly spoken, but there was something so intriguing about the fearful excitement in her eyes- and something even more intriguing about the way she had projectile vomited all over the ground. There seemed to be a kinship between her and anyone she met who was clearly in over their head. A mutual chaos that ebbed and flowed- like The Force for fuck-ups.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>waitress POV !! to me, she's secretly one of sunny's most unhinged characters. how does one write from the perspective of a character without a name? asking for a friend.....<br/>possible TW: alcohol(ism)<br/>also it may be obvious but i'm trying out a bunch of new formatting stuff with this fic. sorry if the text logs get annoying- let me know! i encourage criticism in terms of structure and pacing- i know it isn't my biggest strength UwU (please note that "i dislike lgbtq headcanons" is not a valid criticism) i dont proofread, 1 am, grammar is fake, etc. etc. etc.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She awoke to the horrible screeching of her old clock radio. Enraged by the noise, she grabbed the thing and ripped its cord from the wall before hurling it into the corner of the room. Another hangover plagued her body- aches and pains riddled her small frame, nausea rolled over her in uncomfortable waves. It was nothing she couldn't deal with, but the morning after was still never pleasant.</p><p><em> Hair of the dog </em>, she reasoned, reaching out toward her bedside to snatch up one of several plastic bottles filled with dark, amber liquid. What was inside, she couldn't be sure- nor could she be positive exactly how many days it had sat out, untouched in its place on the old sandalwood nesting table.</p><p>Guzzling down the remaining few ounces of liquor, she hissed as a foul smell like old paint thinner burned at her nose hairs.</p><p><em> C'mon, keep it down. You can do this. </em>Steeling herself against the rising bile in her chest, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up- dizzy and off-kilter from another long night of drinking. She'd lost count now, how many this would make in a row. It didn't help that she wasn't even sure what day of the year it was. For all she knew, it could be Spring or it could be Autumn. She doubted it was Winter, unless she'd suddenly found herself in the South, though it was still too cold for a Philly Summer.</p><p>Closing her eyes, she reached out to brace her swaying body against the wall- missing entirely and tumbling to the floor in a clumsy heap. She muttered a string of curses into the carpet.</p><p>Something wet touched her big toe, and she almost recoiled in disgust before realising what- or <em> who </em>- it was.</p><p>"Aw," she said fondly. "Hey, Freddie." Peeling her face up off the floor, she twisted to look down at her own feet.</p><p>There, she saw a thin, frail-looking black cat, pressing his cold nose against her skin. He was a stray- one she'd taken in about half a year ago, after finding him behind a dumpster out in the rain.</p><p><em> So it was raining half a year ago. Good to know </em>. She wondered if she might be able to use this information to figure out the date- but quickly realised how non-specific rain was to any particular season.</p><p>Fredrick let out a loud, impatient series of mews which took her from her thoughts.</p><p>"Ya hungry?" She inquired, staring into the cat's expectant eyes. He meowed again loudly in response.</p><p>"Good boy, such good manners."</p><p>She teetered languidly across the floor of her cramped studio apartment, tiptoeing through piles of clutter and clothes as she stepped.</p><p>"Food for the baby, food for the boy…" She sang absently as she pried open a can of wet food, and used the lid to scoop its contents up onto a small paper plate.</p><p>Already attracted by the sound of a can being opened, Fredrick stuck his face straight into the small mound of pâtéed fish the second it touched the floor, chomping away greedily at the oversized portion.</p><p>"Eat up, little guy," she cooed. "Mama loves you." She bent down to press a small kiss into the crown of his furry head, though he didn't seem to care about the gesture one way or the other.</p><p>Seeing this, she felt tears well up behind her eyes; she felt pathetic. Here was a creature she'd most likely rescued from an untimely death. She gave it nothing but love, affection and care. And what did it do? It ate beside her. That was the best she could hope for.</p><p>Another wave of dizziness hit her, and she fell to her knees in a tightly curled ball. Inhaling deeply, she shut her eyes firm and focused on the sound of the leaking faucet behind her.</p><p>
  <em> Drip. Drip. Inhale. Drip. Drip. Exhale. </em>
</p><p>Sensing another shitty day ahead of her, she dragged herself off the floor and wandered over to the coffee maker. She only drank it on particularly rough mornings- this was shaping up to be one already. Flipping up the cheap machine's plastic lid, she noted a brown crust of coffee grounds stuck inside the percolator. Choosing to ignore this, she slid a fresh paper filter into its basket and poured more grounds inside haphazardly. Despite not drinking much herself, she'd made enough coffee before to eyeball the amounts- though some solid pieces did tumble down into the basin in her carelessness. As she made her way to the sink for water, she heard the low rumble of a phone buzzing against a wooden desk. She sighed, placing the glass coffee pot on the counter before sauntering apathetically toward the noise; she half-hoped whoever was calling might give up.</p><p>"Hello," she answered.</p><p>"Why is it," her mother said from the other line, pointedly ignoring the greeting. "That you seem to <em> explicitly </em>disobey every order you're given?" Christ. She was too tired for this shit.</p><p>"Is that a rhetorical question?"</p><p>"Do <em> not </em>get smart with me, young lady. Do you know how much money I've put into your future?"</p><p>"You might have mentioned," she quipped.</p><p>"Good god," came the start of a well-worn lecture. "You're drunk. It's 10 o'clock in the morning."</p><p>"I'm not."</p><p>"Then I guess I was born yesterday." Her tone grew more and more stern by the second. "Honestly, you have no respect. None for me, none for your father, and none for yourself. Do you even care how we feel?"</p><p>
  <em> Hold your tongue. </em>
</p><p>"Mom, calm down. I'm not drunk." Half-true; she was just tipsy.</p><p>"I put up with a lot from you. You know that. Between you and your sister I've got more grey hairs than God." There was a long and uncomfortable silence, punctuated by a deep sigh. "I don't know what to do with you kids."</p><p>"I'm 22," she reminded her. "Not a kid."</p><p>"Don't be petulant. Drink some coffee and call me when you're sober- if you ever get there." Without another word, she heard the distinctive <em> bleep-bloop </em> of the call disconnecting.</p><p>"Nasty fucking bitch," she growled, throwing her phone violently across the room and onto her bed, where it gracelessly bounced and fumbled onto the floor. She seemed to only call to tell her she was screwing up both their lives, as if that had never been the intention.</p><p>But that wasn't a path she wanted to go down today. Her high school self had set out a lot of traps for present-day her; she had stuck both feet in. The destruction of being a teenage alcoholic would be a mess she'd likely spend her whole life cleaning up.</p><p>Just as she was beginning to calm down, she heard another buzz from the discarded phone.</p><p><em> Leave me alone, </em>she whined internally, though she rose and checked the message anyway.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>BIRTH GIVER</b>
</p><p>Check email…… Meeting. Don't make me regret helping. You need structure…… Life not a party…… LOL…….</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, what the fuck does this say?" She re-read the lengthy message 3 times, always thrown off by her mother's bizarre style of texting. Clearly, she was a big fan of the double ellipses- and didn't seem to grasp the use of acronyms. It would almost be endearing if it didn't make communication so difficult. Finally comprehending to at least some extent, she closed out the messaging app and switched over to the outdated <em> Yahoo! Mail </em> account which only her family still used. Atop her inbox of 999+ unread messages, sat what looked like a piece of chain mail.</p><p>
  <em> CC: FW: RE: RE: IMPORTANT INQUIRY! </em>
</p><p>"Jesus Christ," just reading the trainwreck of a subject line sent her head spinning. <em> She shouldn't be allowed on the internet. </em></p><p>She had to sift through quite a bit of old hippie chit-chat to figure out the actual point of the message- annoyingly, most of the details were buried amongst paragraphs about chakra cleansing and reiki massage. It took her a moment, but she actually recognised the odd speech patterns behind the text.</p><p>"Not that weirdo from the rec centre…" What was her mom doing chatting to strange thespians online?</p><p><em> Being nosey </em>, her mind supplied.</p><p>"Right," she answered herself out loud. She was starting to feel her liquid breakfast coming on. The swig may have been a bit much, but she hadn't been expecting a bottle of mystery moonshine. </p><p>Getting back to the task at hand, she forced her half-blurred eyes to focus on the words before her. Too confused by their rambling contents and on her way to drunk, she was mostly searching for a time and date. The text had said <em> meeting </em>, and if rec-centre-weirdo was involved, then she at least had a location.</p><p>
  <em> At your earliest convenience. </em>
</p><p>Her earliest convenience. <em> What a load of shit. </em></p><p>While the mystery meeting did pique her curiosity, her mother was- to her chagrin- not wrong. She <em> did </em> feel the need to disobey every order she was given, especially the ones she got from either of her parents.</p><p>
  <em> Still… </em>
</p><p>She had been craving human contact; enough so to drop in on BB's weird little lesbian theatre hideaway. She and Tracey had been begging her to show her face there for months, but it had just been more concerned questions and worried looks like always. In the brief time she'd actually been inside, the only person who didn't pry into her business had been a stranger.</p><p>She had barely been able to stop thinking about the lanky, awkward woman from the club. They had hardly spoken, but there was something so intriguing about the fearful excitement in her eyes- and something even more intriguing about the way she had projectile vomited all over the ground. There seemed to be a kinship between her and anyone she met who was clearly in over their head. A mutual chaos that ebbed and flowed- like The Force for fuck-ups.</p><p>Fredrick let out a needy meow, drawing her eyes back toward the counter where her empty coffee pot sat forgotten.</p><p>
  <em> Right. </em>
</p><p>She either needed another drink, or something to take her mind off having one.</p><p><em> Coffee first, </em> she thought. <em> Rash decisions later. </em></p><p>Pocketing the phone and heading over to the sink, she brought the pot over and tried once again to fill it with water. Successful this time, she carried it to the coffee maker. The liquid sloshed and dripped down the sides of the machine as she dumped it lazily into the basin, snapping the lid shut and clicking the whole thing to life.</p><p>Feeling a warm pressure against her leg, she looked down to find Fredrick circling her feet, nuzzling at her with his head.</p><p>"Now you love me, huh?" She knelt down to pet him, almost startling him away as she lost her balance slightly. "Are you trying to communicate, little buddy? What is it?"</p><p>He gave another <em> meow </em>, a stand-in reply.</p><p>"You're right, Fred. Maybe she <em> was </em>the woman of my dreams."</p><p>Fredrick went back to his nuzzling, this time pressing his face into the palms of her hands as if to say <em> pet me, I don't care about your problems </em>.</p><p>Realising she wouldn't get another mystical cat-wisdom, she started wracking her own brain for ways to run into Puke Girl again.</p><p>
  <em> Where do cute lesbians hang out? </em>
</p><p>Her friends would know, if anyone. Retrieving her cell phone from her pocket, she scrolled through her contacts. She chuckled when she found the group chat- it was embarrassingly unoriginal.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>BLOSSOM</b>
</p><p><em> to </em> <b> <em>Power Puff Gays ♀️</em> </b></p><p>hey ladies !! super fun time last night :^)</p><p>i have a question ??</p><p>
  <b>BUBBLES ✌🏿🌈</b>
</p><p>Was good to see you! Come out with us more!</p><p>What's the Q? 👀</p><p>
  <b>BLOSSOM</b>
</p><p>may or may not have been a woman there ,,,</p><p>
  <b>BUTTERCUP</b>
</p><p>of course there was lmfao</p><p>
  <b>BUBBLES ✌🏿🌈</b>
</p><p>Afraid you'll have to be more specific</p><p>
  <b>BLOSSOM</b>
</p><p>uUUuuuHh</p><p>blonde. tall. sweatpants, maybe?</p><p>
  <b>BUTTERCUP</b>
</p><p>still soooo not specific</p><p>like what shade of blonde are we talking here</p><p>
  <b>BLOSSOM</b>
</p><p>idk, straw ???</p><p>yellow</p><p>she seemed like very stressed and tired lol i hit on her and she puked</p><p>
  <b>BUTTERCUP</b>
</p><p>OH OH</p><p>newborn baby 🦒 vibes?</p><p>
  <b>BUBBLES ✌🏿🌈</b>
</p><p>It's true, but you shouldn't say it!!</p><p>Her name is Deandra IIRC</p><p>
  <b>BLOSSOM  </b>
</p><p>ajebrjskeje that's the one</p><p><b>👀👀👀 </b>deandra huh</p><p>
  <b>BUBBLES ✌🏿🌈</b>
</p><p>She's sweet!</p><p>Tho apparently she's not really "out" out?</p><p>
  <b>BUTTERCUP </b>
</p><p>heard she's a little 🔪🔪</p><p>
  <b>BLOSSOM</b>
</p><p>hm these are all red flags i love that for me</p><p>sources ?? receipts ?? also what does 🔪🔪 mean</p><p>
  <b>BUBBLES ✌🏿🌈</b>
</p><p>Wait she puked?</p><p>
  <b>BUTTERCUP</b>
</p><p>eh my brother kinda knows her</p><p>yknow 🔪🔪</p><p>stabby vibes</p><p>
  <b>BUBBLES ✌🏿🌈</b>
</p><p>Sounds kinky 😏</p><p>
  <b>BLOSSOM </b>
</p><p>okay im sold</p><p>knows her from where</p><p>
  <b>BUTTERCUP</b>
</p><p>stabby was not supposed to be encouraging</p><p>
  <b>BUBBLES ✌🏿🌈</b>
</p><p>Rec theatre! Go get stabbed, babe! 💖💞💝💗</p><p>
  <b>BUTTERCUP 🐝🐝</b>
</p><p>no</p><p>please do not get stabbed</p><p>
  <b>BLOSSOM</b>
</p><p>tysm!!!!</p><p>im gonna get so stabbed 💘🖤💘</p><p> </p><p>She locked her phone screen without bothering to wait for another message. She may have been oblivious, but even she couldn't ignore this many signs in a row. <em> Deandra </em> . She rattled the name around in her head. <em> Deandra, the Puke Girl </em>.</p><p>She'd have to remember not to call her that out loud.</p><p>Making for the door, she quickly slipped on her ugliest pair of worn skateboarding shoes and a light jean jacket.</p><p>"Fredrick," she called out from the doorway. "When I come home you're gonna have 2 mommies!"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you want to, you can support my work @<br/>ko-fi.com/glennisthemenace !</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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